


A Tree Without Roots

by athena_crikey



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl can recognize some things shouldn't be lost, even if he never had them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tree Without Roots

**Author's Note:**

> Set around 2.06/07

Daryl’s staring at page 22 of the novel Andrea gave him when he hears the footsteps outside his tent. He’s been staring at page 22 for the past half hour, the book’s spine resting on his abs and his dirty fingers curled over the edges. The novel isn’t far above his reading level, but he has no interest in making the effort – he’s managed so far in life with just the thoughts in his head for company, doesn’t need someone else’s now. But so far this morning the book’s presence has cut short a visit from both Rick and Dale; Daryl thinks he might have to start taking reading more seriously. 

He knows from the weight and stride that the footsteps outside belong to Lori, so he’s not surprised when he hears her clear her throat just before she steps into sight on the other side of the open door. “Daryl? Can I come in?”

“If you’ve gotta.” He doesn’t lower the book, in fact looks back to it and reads the sentence on the top of the page. It’s not any better the fifth time around.

Lori comes in, ducking low under the flap and then straightening to stand by it, twisting her hands. “Daryl – do you think you could keep an eye on Carl this morning?” She starts out uncertainly, but then just spits the words out like they’re cutting her mouth. It’s the way she makes a lot of her requests, he’s noticed, storing them up inside her until they get too jagged to keep anymore and then loosing them like darts rather than pleas. 

Daryl looks up from the book, raising an eyebrow. “I look like a babysitter?”

“I know, but everyone’s going to be out looking for Sophia or working today, and Carl’s not up to that. And with all the … the little frictions with Hershel, I don’t want to ask his people to mind him.”

“So you’re asking me.”

“Will you? He won’t be a bother – he has his math,” she adds, as though schoolwork was some kind of heavy sedative. Daryl sighs and shrugs. “If he stays quiet, the kid can sit with me.” He looks back to the book like he’s missing something big by continuing the conversation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lori relax and push her hair back. “Thanks, Daryl. I’ll send him over.”

“If he gets uppity, that’s another story,” yells Daryl at her retreating back. Once she’s out of sight, he drops his head back, rolls his eyes, and feels the book fan shut over his fingers.

***  


Carl shows up some fifteen minutes later, by which time Daryl has picked another page to stare at at random. The kid pauses for a minute at the entrance, but steps over it once Daryl glances up at him. He sits down on the other side of the tent with slightly stiff movements – it’ll be another couple of days before he’s moving like a normal, healthy boy again. Probably around the same time Daryl’s back on all cylinders.

“Hi,” he says, looking around curiously; thinking back, Daryl realises it’s the first time the kid’s been in his tent. He watches Carl’s eyes skate over his hatchet, the quiver of crossbow arrows in the corner, the messy pile of his clothes. Daryl supposes life in the Grimes tent is probably neatly folded and colour-coordinated. 

“You mind them numbers,” he says, once the boy’s had enough time to sate his curiosity. Carl nods at him, and Daryl turns back to his book. He watches out of the corner of his eye as the kid opens a cheap yellow notebook and picks up the pencil stashed inside. 

Like most children, once he’s settled Carl is absorbed by his work, and Daryl can stop pretending to read the novel. The kid’s notebook is full of sums written in a clear, round adult hand with heavy lines drawn in for the answers; only the first two have hesitant numbers scrawled in. 

Carl does his homework the same way city kids gut fish: mouth twisted up, movements hesitant and body held as far away from the book as he can get it. In a lot of ways, the kid really is a city kid – practically pasty even before the gunshot, tramples around like a young elephant, and watches people rather than the landscape. And he’s still got those dumb fawn eyes that Daryl’s so used to seeing over the end of his crossbow. The kid’s going to have to toughen up fast if he’s going to make it in this new world, and a mother who tries to keep the reality of it hidden from him isn’t going to help.

Daryl turns back to his book and idly turns a page, the cheap ink leaving a light smear on his thumb. Outside the mosquitos hum and occasionally skate over the tent’s soft sides; in the distance there’s the occasional quiet lowing of cattle. The minutes tick by unmarked, the shadows outside slowly drifting to the left. Until finally:

“Ugh.” Carl tosses down his pencil and squirms like a squirrel caught in a trap. “This is stupid. I told Mom it was pointless.”

Daryl looks over. “Hey now.”

Carl makes a face. “Well, it is. Multiplication tables, addition? What’s there to add up out here? I should be learning from you and Dad and Shane. Real stuff – how to hunt and shoot and make arrows.” He motions at the quiver in the corner. 

Daryl puts the book down on his stomach and sits up a bit higher against the pillow. “Your Ma, she doesn’t want you to learn them sums, or that history or geography or whatever all it is, ‘cause you need it now. She knows you don’t. She wants you to learn them ‘cause that’s our world, that’s who we are, and we need to remember it or we become less. We become like animals, or like walkers even, brainless stomachs doing no more than looking for the next meal. And maybe a little bit because just ‘cause something’s gone don’t mean we forget it.”

The kid curls over a bit, hunching up so that his hat shades his eyes. After a minute he says, quietly, “You mean like Amy, and Jacqui?”

“Yeah, like them.” Like the whole damn world. Like Merle, even, although Daryl mostly doesn’t think about that. 

Carl picks up his pencil slowly, rubs at the sharp end with his thumb. “Okay.” He looks up, hat tilting back to show his eyes. “But when I’m finished, will you teach me something? Something I need to know now?”

Daryl leans back a little. “What I’m good at, it ain’t the kind of thing you learn in the classroom,” he grates out, and sees the disappointment in Carl’s eyes. And, like the softest touch in the damn state, relents. “But when my side’s a bit better, and if your parents give their okay, then maybe there’s a thing or two you could stand to pick up.”

The kid smiles wide, like he’s been given an early birthday present. “Thanks, Daryl!”

“Right. But you’ve gotta finish them sums first.”

“I will!” He picks up the notebook again and bends back to it, holding it closer this time and squinting hard at it. Daryl leaves his own book lying on his stomach and watches the boy do his work. And thinks maybe, just maybe, the kid will be able to toughen up after all.


End file.
